


Bad Language

by soufflegirl91



Series: Souffle's Choose Your Own Adventure April [8]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond speaking French, Getting Together, Humour, M/M, Q has a crush the size of Texas, a lot of the swearing is in French, inappropriate erections in the workplace, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23734108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/pseuds/soufflegirl91
Summary: Bond curses in French when things get tough on missions or he’s just really, really fed up. Q is a professional who absolutely does not care. Cool, calm and collected… it does nothing for him… AT ALL.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Souffle's Choose Your Own Adventure April [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691788
Comments: 42
Kudos: 169
Collections: MI6 Cafe Collections





	Bad Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [christinefromsherwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/gifts).



> CYOA April #11 - Jaws of Death: Fill an anon prompt that no one has done yet. The prompt I picked was “Bond curses in French when things get tough on missions; on the comms Q is a professional who absolutely does not care...cool, calm and collected... it does nothing for him... AT ALL”
> 
> A gift for Christinefromsherwood, for always being the best beta I could ask for, and also because this was her prompt. 
> 
> Thanks to q00kies for some of the swearing suggestions. My French is a bit rusty, and I’m not a native speaker, so any mistakes are my own. Glossary in the end notes for how they translate in context, but I don't think there's anything you need to know to understand the story. 
> 
> Also a massive thank you to Dart and Storm for being my betas on this one so that Christine could be surprised.

The first time it happened, Q was certain he had misheard. 

Bond wasn’t even _in_ France at the time. In fact, he was in a basement in Afghanistan swearing at a computer, and Q was only half paying attention while he made a cup of tea. 

“Stupid _bloody_ thing, hurry the fuck up! _Ça me fait chier!_ ”

“007? Is something wrong?” Q paused in the act of removing his teabag, not sure if he had imagined that last bit. 

“This stupid piece of shit computer is taking forever to transfer. The 90s called, they want their technology back. For fuck’s sake.” 

It seemed that Bond was in a _delightful_ mood today. And Q still couldn’t figure out if he’d been imagining things or not.

“There’s not exactly any rush, 007. You killed everyone in a three-mile radius, and your extraction team won’t be there for another half an hour. Now be a dear and stop swearing at me.”

“ _Va te faire foutre_ ,” grumbled Bond under his breath, presumably not realising just how sensitive Q’s earpieces were. 

Well. Not imagining things, then.

“I _heard_ that.” 

There was a brief, _painfully_ awkward silence on the other end of the line.

“....Sorry, Q.” 

“So you should be,” Q muttered darkly. 

Honestly, he wasn’t too bothered about a disgruntled agent telling him to go fuck himself. They said far worse things over the comms when things went tits up.

No. Bond should be sorry for saying it in _French._ Because that _did things_ to Q. 

-

Most of the time, Bond swore in English, and even Q would admit he had a very… _creative_ vocabulary. Say what you like about ‘professional language for the workplace’, but the double-ohs spent much of their working lives being _actively shot at_. If swearing helped them deal with the stress, Q was all for it. 

But when Bond decided to switch to French, it was… _distracting._ On _so_ many levels. 

Firstly, because there were only two sets of circumstances when he would do it: when things were on a direct train to hell in a hand-basket and even _Q_ wasn’t sure Bond would make it out alive; or when he was really, _really_ fed up and therefore wanted a distraction of his own. A situation which appeared to be occurring more and more often lately. 

Secondly, because while Q had known that Bond spoke French, he had not realised that _Bond spoke French like that._

Thirdly, because it had a profound effect on parts of his anatomy he would rather not be bothered by _at work._ He had spent the entire length of their working relationship trying very hard to hide the fact that he had a crush on Bond the size of Texas, and now he was having to hide the fact that _he was having fantasies about James Bond speaking French to him in bed!_ It was just not fair! 

“ _Fils de_ pute!”

Q jerked to attention, rubbing his eyes as he glanced at his watch.

3.17 am. 

Lovely. 

He had definitely _not_ been dozing. Honest. And even if he _had_ been, he was certainly very much awake now. In fact, some bits of him were more awake than he would like them to be. 

A quick glance at his screen showed him that Bond hadn’t moved from his observation point, and the mark was still in his bedroom with one other heat signature, just as he had been three hours ago. 

“I know recon missions are boring, Bond, but was there really any call for that?”

“I’m not one to judge someone for their choice of night time company, but this is his _third_ visitor in as many hours. The man must be taking the little blue pills, I swear. _Salaud!_ ”

“And you’re sure they are… that kind of visitor?” Q cleared his throat nervously, _not_ wanting to think about night time visitors right now. 

“Q, I can see through the bloody bedroom window, _yes_ , I’m sure. More sure than I ever wanted to be! _Mon dieu,_ somebody book this man in for a back wax. There isn’t enough bleach in the _world_ to scrub this view from my memory.” 

Wax? Bleach? _What?_

Before his mind could catch up with what Bond was talking about, Q clicked on the camera feed. 

Oh. _Oh._

“Eeww,” he spluttered, clicking away from the screen as quickly as he could. 

“Told you so. _La vache!_ Really, how do those women bear it?!” 

“I’m sure they find his money alluring enough,” Q muttered dryly, trying not to think about something that _he_ found alluring. “Now, if that was all?”

“Yes, yes, you can go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t-” he spluttered.

“ _Sure_ you weren’t. Don’t worry, Q, I won’t tell. Nothing is going to happen here tonight, anyway. 007 signing off. _Bonne nuit._ ”

Q buried his head in his hands and groaned. 

He _really_ needed to do something about this… problem.

-

“Bond, you have three minutes before the building blows. You need to get out of there!” 

"I'm _trying_ , Q! This _maudit_ fucking door won't open! _Putain!_ "

Q cursed, willing his body not to give in to what had become a Pavlovian response. 

"You’ll have to jump out the bloody window then! Get _out!_ ”

_“Bordel de merde!”_

Thanking whatever lucky stars he still had that his anatomy was smart enough to realise that this was _not_ the time for an inappropriate erection, Q heard the crack of Bond’s Walther and the sound of shattering glass. He scanned the 3D map data looking for the best course of action.

“It must be your lucky day, 007. If you look down, you should find a nice soft landing place.” 

There was a brief shuffle and more glass tinkling as Bond climbed onto the window ledge.

 _“Tu te fous de ma gueule!_ Q, that’s a fucking _wheelie bin!”_

“A bin that will stop you breaking your legs, Bond, yes. 90 seconds left. Jump!” 

There was a moment’s silence, and then with a muttered _“putain de merde!”_ Bond let himself drop. Q winced at the resounding crash of an agent hitting a container full of rubbish. 

“Ughhh, _ça pue!”_

“Nothing broken, I hope?”

“Only my pride,” Bond groaned, making Q muffle a snort. 

“You’ll recover. Now, better start running.” 

Q watched as, with another muttered oath, the green dot on the screen labelled 007 moved just out of range and the building exploded behind him. 

-

Alone in his office, Q slumped back in his chair and tipped his neck back, groaning appreciatively as it clicked. 

It had been a long day. 

After getting Bond safely away from the local authorities and on a plane home, he’d spent the day making sure the explosion wouldn’t be traced back to MI6, explaining to M “why the fuck did Bond blow up another bloody building, honestly, Q I don’t know why you let him get away with it” and, worst of all, having to monitor bloody 003 _,_ the _prick_. Now that things had calmed down, he’d sent most of his staff home and settled in his office to wait for Bond to check in. 

_Bond._

Bond was becoming a Problem. Either Q was going to have to find a way to stop Bond speaking French, or he was going to end up pushing the agent up against the door of his office and climbing him like a tree. _How_ could he not realise the effect he was having?! _No one_ should be able to speak so vulgarly and have it come out sounding _so fucking delicious_. 

Even now, the memory of _that voice_ , and the way it skilfully negotiated _those sounds_ gave him a very peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. Lower down, a different part of his anatomy apparently didn’t get the memo that he was _still at work, dammit_ , and was beginning to show just how _interested_ it was. Q rolled his eyes, glaring at his trousers in the hopes that the stink eye might make his treacherous cock go back to sleep because _this was not the time!_

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Holy fuck!” Q jolted, nearly sending himself flying as he scrambled to sit up. “Don’t you knock?!” 

“No one else is here, Q,” Bond chuckled, but there was something in his eyes behind that smile. Something that looked like _heat_. “Besides, you looked very… relaxed.”

 _Shit._ Could he _see_ how turned on Q was?

“Yes, well, it’s been a… long day,” he trailed off lamely, looking anywhere but at Bond. 

_“À qui le dis-tu!”_

Q’s gaze snapped to Bond’s face. Ice blue eyes twinkled impishly. Q half expected Bond to start crowding in on him, but he didn’t. Instead, he merely closed the door behind him and leaned on it, arms crossed in a picture of confidence. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh, you _fucker,_ ” spluttered Q, pushing himself up. “You absolute _wanker.”_

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Oh, yes you do, Mr all-of-a-sudden-I-swear-in-French-now.” 

Bond grinned like the cat who ate the canary.

“ _Mais, Q! Ma mère était Suisse. Bien sûr que je parle français!”_

Q gaped. That was- That was- That was _not fair!_

“You’ve been doing it on purpose! This whole time! Trying to get a rise out of me, you _bastard!”_

“And did I get a _rise_ out of you?” 

Bond was _smirking_ and Q wanted to kiss the bloody smirk off his stupid, smug face! He stalked towards him, hoping that he looked more angry than aroused, but, honestly, Q doubted it. He got right up in Bond’s face, and was gratified to see the way his pupils dilated and his nostrils flared. 

Clearly Q’s reaction was having its own effect on Bond.

Good. 

See how _he_ liked it. 

“You- are- a- fucking- _idiot-_ James- Bond!” Q punctuated each word with a jab to Bond’s shoulder. 

“ _I’m_ an idiot? It’s taken you _how long_ to notice?!” 

He huffed, because that was valid but it was _not fair!_

“If you wanted to fucking _seduce_ me, there were easier ways to go about it, you- you- _tosser!”_

He flung himself forward, lips crashing against Bond’s. 

“Mmmph!” 

He supposed that there were probably more _romantic_ ways to lead up to kissing someone than by calling them a tosser, but _honestly_ , Bond deserved it! And judging by the way he pulled Q in closer, Bond was _not_ protesting. 

He lost himself in the kiss, enjoying the way Bond’s hands cradled his jaw, fingers brushing the nape of his neck. That clever, _clever_ tongue was just as talented at kissing as it was at speaking French. Q’s fantasies didn’t even come _close_ to the reality. 

Eventually, the need to breathe became too urgent, and as he leaned against Bond, trapping him between Q and the door, he became aware that he was not the _only_ one turned on right now.

“You know,” Bond murmured, stroking his hands up and down Q’s biceps and, _oh,_ that felt _good!_ “I don’t just swear in French. I can also do pillow talk, too.”

Q chuckled breathlessly, nuzzling in to kiss at Bond’s neck, but then something else became _very_ apparent. 

“James…”

“Yes, Q?” 

Bond gave him another peck on the lips, which really _was_ lovely, but…

“You _reek!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary:  
> Ça me fait chier - It’s pissing me off  
> Va te faire foutre - Go fuck yourself  
> Fils de pute - Son of a bitch  
> Salaud - Bastard (also the masculine version of salope which means slut)  
> Mon Dieu - My God  
> La Vache - Holy shit/Bloody hell in this context  
> Bonne nuit - Goodnight  
> Maudit - Wretched/Damned  
> Putain - Fuck  
> Bordel de merde - For fuck’s sake/Goddamnit  
> Tu te fous de ma gueule - You’re fucking kidding me / you’re taking the piss  
> Putain de merde - Fucking shit  
> Ça pue - It stinks  
> À qui le dis-tu - Tell me about it/You’re telling me  
> Mais, Q! Ma mère était Suisse. Bien sûr que je parle français! - But, Q! My mother was Swiss. Of course I speak French!


End file.
